


Pure

by Ladybmorebelle



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:33:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2378375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybmorebelle/pseuds/Ladybmorebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more to purity than the magic in their blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pure

It was the smell of earth which dragged him out of bed, into the light, into the damp heat of the greenhouse and out of the stifling pity of his dormitory. 

Dirt and mulch and compost - these things were clean; the filth under his fingernails was pure in a way that the casual affection and careless dismissal of Gryffindor were not. His earth was alive - and it wasn't just the real approval of Professor Sprout or the way the plants grew quickly and beautifully under his touch, but being in the greenhouse was like finally living.

The earth didn't care that his parents were shackled to the pain-curse of their brains, didn't care that Snape terrified and despised him, didn't care that, while his housemates were always perfectly nice, they'd rather spend time with each other and rarely with him. The earth had no intention other than to bring forth new life and give rest to the dead. It didn't pretend, it had no forced compassion, it couldn't judge and couldn't hate. 

The greenhouse was his. 

And he was good at smelling that purity in other places, in other people. Going to class or eating in the Great Hall or watching Quidditch - Neville saw and felt what so few people could. 

He saw purity in the way Hermione read Hogwarts: a History - not because she wanted to learn, but because she needed to be comforted, needed to feel that this castle and this world were real and good and that she had a home in both. Reading that book, over and over again, was Hermione's way of clinging on to the extraordinary magic coursing through her truly ordinary blood. 

He saw purity in the way that Ron looked at her when she cracked open, terrified, scared for her parents and her house elf crusade and the thought that maybe she couldn't bring all of her books with her into a merciless war. 

He saw it in Blaise Zabini when he got a letter from his mother - flickers of awe, fear, deference and defiance passing through the silver reflections in his eyes as he reached for a cup of coffee and grinned, fiercely, at Pansy Parkinson, hiding and not hiding the uncertainty of pure blood and family obligations. 

He watched Pansy, too, and she was pure in her anger and pettiness and in the way she reached for Malfoy's wrist when his head was in his hands and then changed her mind, smoothed down her long black hair, and stole sweets from Millicent Bullstrode's care package from home. 

And Malfoy - he was pure in his loneliness. And he was pure in the way he looked hungrily at Snape because he needed the protection of a loving adult and had far, far too little. And he was pure in the way that he stared under his lashes at Harry, because he needed attention and no one gave him the kind he craved. 

Love. 

Neville loved the earth and the earth loved him with the purity of symbiosis, and it was a love without pity or rancor or general indifference. And when he saw Malfoy sneer at Harry and Harry glare at Malfoy, he wished he could heal them like he tended to his plants. He wished he could dig into their hearts, the way his fingers dug into the dark earth, and fix what was broken. 

Because once that happened - if they could recognize that craving in each other, love like sunlight --

Things would start to grow. And nothing would stop them.

**Author's Note:**

> So... My bestie and I have challenged each other to write at least 250 words a day. I thought, why not write some H/D? Well, we shall see how things go!


End file.
